


Saturday Scully

by Sarie_Fairy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Pining, UST, Weekend Scully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarie_Fairy/pseuds/Sarie_Fairy
Summary: The chapter was written from a prompt for @xfilesfanscribe who wanted a fic about what Scully might do with her time to herself. Shopping, errands, pottering... This was what I came up with.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	Saturday Scully

**Author's Note:**

> *This is not new. I am rearranging some of my stories in AO3.

It was late. A case file, and Mulder, were spread across Scully’s motel room bed. His tie and suit jacket draped over the back of a lone chair, shoes abandoned on the floor. Scully was perched, side-saddle on the edge of the bed as she sifted through reports and gruesome photographs. The tacky orange and brown flowers of the bedspread, that matched the decor, obscured by pieces of their current X File. She slipped off the bed, excused herself, and disappeared behind the bathroom door. Mulder dropped the photograph he had been focusing on, onto the pile of evidence. He leaned back, lay down, head landing on her pillow. Tucked his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling and let out a sigh. Adjusting the pillow for comfort, he crinkled his brow, brought his hand back, a blue satin garment in his fist. He instinctively brought it to his nose. Let the aroma flood his senses. _Scully._ Her familiar laundry detergent. Her perfume. _Her._ He let the silky fabric slip over his lips as he held it to his face. The toilet flushed, and he took a last smell before stuffing her pyjama top back where he found it.

…

It was an early Autumn Saturday morning. Scully tipped her favourite scented laundry power into the machine, let the lid drop and clicked the dial to start the cycle. Her first of three Saturday loads of washing. Darks. Lights and delicates to follow. She had many weekend rituals. This was one, though she didn’t think of them as such. Three loads on Saturday. Sundays, or every other Sunday, saved for sheets and towels.

…

She made her way back into her hotel bedroom, sat back on the bed and kicked her heels off, letting them drop to the floor. He watched as she crossed her ankles, wiggled her unbound toes. She had beautiful feet. How strange, he thought, to know her so well but be so unacquainted with her feet. He’d been privy to them so rarely. Had only occasionally seen them. Times like this evening in one or other of their hotel rooms. Or their occasional movie nights, if it were hot, and footwear wasn’t called for. In the office, close to the end of the day when heels were replaced with comfort. And usually, as now, through the blur of her nylons. Sometimes her toenails would be painted. Bright. Her nails right now were red. Seeing them reminded him again, that as close as they were, she was also worlds away. That as many waking hours as they spent together, she had a whole existence, an entire private life separate from work. From him. Of buying groceries, of hair appointments, clothes shopping and unknown weekend behaviour. Weekly rituals. A mystery. He suddenly wanted to know. He wondered did she ever paint those nails chatting to him late into a work evening, her phone in the crook of her neck? He had an absurd thought that he should somehow be across that information. Like he should be given a pedicure update.

…

With the first load of Scully’s washing dutifully undulating a week’s worth of monster chasing from the dark fibres, she hopped into her car and drove to the shopping centre. Another ritual - Saturday morning shopping and errands. She had learned to buy fresh food to last a few days only, such was her _fly-out-at-a-moments-notice_ job. Non-perishables she could stock up on.

She wandered around her first stop, the drug store. Needed new nylons, fair, size small. Three packs. Was due for her period, so pads, tampons and pain killers. She walked to the shelves of feminine hygiene products. Past the condoms and lubricants, a fleeting thought that her current life didn’t include a need for those things. She went to grab her regular brand of tampons, but a new, non-bleached, 100% cotton, natural brand caught her eye. She took it off the shelf, read a little of the packet and then put them in her basket. Two packs. After collecting everything from the drug store on her list, she hovered near the makeup stands. Rows upon pretty rows of sparking colours and potions promising to enhance one’s beauty. She picked up a tester for red nail-polish, turning it her hand. Unscrewed the cap, poised the tiny brush at her pinky finger. Then stopped. Knew that it just meant the task of cleaning it off with nail polish remover later. Not a colour that suited the Scully of her chosen career. She put one it in her basket anyhow. Thinking she might paint her toenails later.

…

Scully plonked herself back down onto the bed, pushing aside the case paraphernalia. Mulder couldn’t help but noticed her legs, stretching down the bed from under her skirt that was bunched just above her knee, were now stripped of their nylon coverings. Her skin was pale. Luminous. He thought if he touched her, she would feel smooth, like silk. She lay her head on the other pillow next to him, telling him she couldn’t think anymore tonight. He also acquiesced. She asked him if he wanted a cup of tea. He did. So he packed up the file notes, reports and pictures while she got up and turned on the electric kettle.

…

Scully looked at her watch, finalised her drug store purchases and made her way to her waxing appointment. Legs, brows and bikini. It had taken her a few years, and beauticians, for her to find one that she thought did a great job; no ingrown hairs, happy not to make small talk. Scully felt comfortable with her doing her bikini line too, of which she had experimented with different ‘styles’ over the years.

After her wax, she picked up her groceries and stopped by the health food store for some bee pollen. Her beautician explained to her the anti-inflammatory, healing properties would be excellent for her complexion. Instructed to just sprinkle it over a salad or in her yogurt. At the counter, she saw packets of sunflower seeds, grabbed a bag and paid for her items.

…

Scully filled a hot bottle she had retrieved from her luggage with steaming water from the boiled kettle. Then filled two mugs, teabag tags hanging down their sides. She told Mulder she had period pain in reply to the inquisitive look on his face. Handed him his tea and settled onto the bed next to him, back up against the headboard, hot-water bottle to her stomach. Her focus was drawn to an old movie flashing across the small television. His was on her. His mind drifted to that private Scully world once more. Wondered about all the times she silently suffered from menstrual cramps, and he didn’t know. Thought about all of the small things in her life he wasn’t privy to. Thought that he really wanted to know them all. How many different hues had adorned her pretty toes, shod and unnoticed by him? How many other Scully things was he not aware of? Where did she get her hair cut? Shop for her blouses? He wanted to watch, or help, Scully put a duvet inside its cover…

They sipped in comfortable silence. Not yet ready to let go of one another, through the adjoining door. Enjoying a rare, small piece of time, to just be in one another’s company. A precious quiet moment together, no work. Just them.

…

Scully had been home a little while. Turned on a classical music radio station while she unpacked her shopping and put some of her clean clothes away. Potted around her house, watering plants, straighten her bookshelf. Her final day’s load of laundry was on when the phone rang. It was Mulder, inviting himself, takeout and a movie, over. She smiled and looked around her apartment. Told him to give her a few hours, but she’d love to. She hadn’t yet made it to the end of her usual solitary Saturday.

Scully enjoyed cleaning. Was always neat and tidy, so it wasn’t ever a big job. She began with the kitchen, then the surfaces in the lounge and her bedroom. She’d vacuum next. Followed by cleaning the bathroom and lastly mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors. She called her mother then. A routine phone call, usually around the same time each week. It always varied in length, depending on Scully’s mood and Margaret’s amount of family news. Her reward at the end of her busy Saturday was always a bubble bath. And candles. And wine.

Appearing, casually dressed, after her bath, there was a knock at her door, the beginning of a new ritual, a shared one - movie night with Mulder.

…

The film over, the bottom of their mugs discovered, he stood to bid Scully goodnight. He moved to go out her front door, not through the adjoining one to his room. She asked him where he was going, and he mentioned that he had left some seeds in the car, so was going to grab them before bed. She stopped him. Fished a fresh packet out of her bag, gave them to him. He asked her to marry him. She smiled. Then he asked her where she got them as his local store had stopped stocking that brand, his favourite. She offered to get them for him, said she was there every Saturday. She paused and then told him that if he liked, maybe he could go with her. Join her on Saturday. He most definitely wanted to. To accompany her on one of her private Scully rituals. So he said yes, that he’d love to.

Then told her good night, and disappeared behind their adjoining door.


End file.
